


Who would ever want to be King?

by Queenofthebees



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriages, Attempted Murder, Betrayal, Character Death, Cunnilingus, Divorce, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hate Sex, Infertility, Infidelity, Jon as a less dicky Henry VIII, Jon is Ned and Catelyn's second true-born son, Jonsa endgame, Robb Jon and Arya are the only Stark children, Rough Sex, Sansa is a Tully, Treason, Tudors AU, Unrequited Love, War, the seven kingdoms are all independent nations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-02-17 02:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13067526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenofthebees/pseuds/Queenofthebees
Summary: There would be bitter songs about him, he knew. The tragedy of his life so far.Parents dead long ago, he can't even remember them, His sister gone with her lover. His brother killed all those years ago, leaving only the heavy crown of the North and a bastard child to remember him by.Five wives so far, Jon thought bitterly. Five wives and still no happiness, no lasting love. Was this punishment for lusting after Jeyne all those years ago? Was Robb's ghost punishing him?He knew that his marriage with Sansa Tully was not going to be any different, no matter the tales he has heard about his cousin growing into a beautiful, sharp and strong young woman.Gods, who would ever want to be a King?Or the one where Jon is a bit like Henry VIII with 6 wives, but a bit less of a dick about it





	1. Jeyne

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SnowStone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowStone/gifts).



> So I discussed this one with SnowStone ages ago.  
> It is Jonsa endgame, saying that right now so turn back if thats not what you want to read :p  
> Now, Jon is a bit less of a dick about it then Henry was but these marriages and relationships are not going to be all that great. There is unrequited love, there is character death(s), there is treason, there is infidelity. Jon is having a shit time to be honest lol.  
> Each chapter will be the new wife so unfortunately Sansa will not have a full chapter until the end, although she will turn up now and again and be mentioned as she is a Tully in this, Edmure's child so Jon's cousin  
> They will also be longer chapters, Jeyne is just an introductory chapter :)

It was the first day of winter when Robb died.

He and Arya had been devastated when his body had been returned to Winterfell. A hunting accident, the Lords were saying. His horse got a fright from some beast that appeared out of nowhere, had reared up and thrown the King in the North to the ground.

Jon was named King in the North for Robb had not been married and had no heirs. Or at least, they had believed he had none.

But Lady Jeyne Westerling appeared one night, tears frozen to her pale cheeks as she spoke of Robb and their time together. At first, Arya had demanded the girl be sent away for Robb would never do such a thing, would never dishonour a lady and leave her with child. While Jon was less harsh with his words, he too had his doubts on the legitimacy of Jeyne’s claim. What if she and her family were just trying to take advantage of the chaos in the North, trying to stake a claim to the Kingdom?

But she had produced Robb’s betrothal document, where he had asked her father for her hand in marriage. It was Robb’s writing, neither Jon or Arya could deny it. The problem was, Robb had clearly skipped ahead to the wedding night before hand for Jeyne Westerling was already showing.

It was going to be a bastard child. There was nothing else that could be done. Even if Jon wanted to marry her and save her honour, she was already pregnant with Robb’s child and the whole North knew it. He wouldn’t be able to pass the child off as his own now.

Still, she was beautiful. Jon could see why Robb had fallen for her, how he could have forgotten his honour for the sake of Jeyne’s soft smile and kind eyes.

He hated how much he wanted her.

As her belly grew, so did her smile. Until she was once again a soft, gentle lady who wanted to please all around her. Even Arya, who despised all things to do with propriety and being a lady had warmed to her, taking the breeches and cloaks Jeyne sewed for her with a grateful grin.

He broached the subject in his solar one evening when she was sitting sewing by the fire and he reading his letters. Her brown eyes were wide as she looked up at him, her lips parted in shock and Jon immediately felt stupid. She had loved Robb, was carrying his brother’s child. And any children they may have in the future, it would be complicated. He knew this, had truly known it.

But the rejection hurt all the same, no matter how gently she refused his offer.

“It would not be right, Your Grace,” she whispered sadly. “I would not wish to bring Robb’s memory between us, it would never be fair to you.”

“If Robb was not…if his ghost was not here between us,” Jon started, forcing himself to stare into the flames and not those soft, dark eyes. He couldn’t bare for her to state the truth, not now.

“Then yes,” she replied softly, knowing his unspoken question, her voice tinged with sincere regret. It made Jon ache even more. “Yes, I would marry you. I could even have loved you.”

He nodded, dismissing himself from the solar on the pretence of being tired. She smiled kindly, giving him a flawless curtsey as he left.

***

Robyn Snow was born on a wild spring day. A wild promise of life, of hope.

And Jon loved his niece fiercely, from the moment he took her from the maester and looked into her eyes, Robb’s eyes. She was going to be another she-wolf, he could tell it already. And he smiled proudly, glancing at Jeyne who was resting in her bed. She was pale and her forehead was glistening from the long birth.

“He would have loved her,” he whispered, fingers trailing a soft cheek. How could anything be so small, so vulnerable and so consuming of his heart?

“I would like to think so,” Jeyne replied gently, the sadness that was there whenever Robb was raised again lingering around them. Her eyes glistened as she watched him with her daughter.

“He would have married you,” Jon added quickly though there is no need to say it again. He has said it so many times. Just like he did not utter the thought that he had repeated over and over.

_Just as I would have, like I still would._

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she replied all the same, her voice soft and sweet and a curse. Must she always be so kind and gentle, he wondered bitterly. Even when she was breaking his heart.

When the birthing fever took her three days later, he locked himself in his chambers for over a fortnight.


	2. Margaery

Arya came to his chambers almost every day in the time he locked himself away in grief. She would leave a tray of food on the table, take the tray of barely touched food away with her.

But fifteen days after Jeyne’s death, he heard her sigh as she entered, saw her shadow appear on the canopy that surrounded him. He rolled over just as she wrenched the curtains open, glaring up at her as he shielded his eyes from the sudden light assaulting him.

Of course, his sister was unaffected by his expression. Arya had always been headstrong and wilful, unwilling to back down when she had her mind set on something. He wasn’t surprised when she sat down next to him.

“Jon, you should come for breakfast,” she stated after a moment. Jon said nothing, rolling to his other side and he heard her sigh again at the action. “Robyn is well by the way. The wet-nurse tells me that she feeds well.”

“Good,” Jon mumbled thickly, surprised at the hoarseness in his voice from lack of use.

“It would please me if you came and ate,” she continued, her voice cracking over her words and it was that which made Jon turn around once more to look at her.

She gave him a timid smile, a gesture that made him feel a rush of affection for his dear sister. He was a mess, the air in the room was stale and he knew that he must smell to high heaven from his lack of care in his grief. But Arya was not going to draw attention to it, he knew. Instead she was there to support him, as she always had been.

Robb too, he thought sadly. The three of them had grown up so close, not even Arya’s sewing lessons kept her from her brothers for long. Robb had taught her how to shoot a bow, Jon had practiced sword-fighting with her. Catelyn had despaired at her daughter’s antics and in some ways, Jon felt sorry for his mother. She had been such a gentle lady, raised in the Riverlands with curtesy her only armour. He knew part of her had longed for a daughter who would allow her to brush her hair and talk amicably as they sewed.

He supposed that was why she spoiled her niece Sansa so often the few times that they had visited her childhood home.

Arya had gotten along with their cousin well enough whenever they had visited the Tullys with their mother. Jon could barely remember the girl now, she had been but a child the last time he had been south. But she had inherited the traditional Tully looks of long auburn hair and bright blue eyes, another Catelyn by all accounts, the River Lords had whispered proudly. Jon supposed if Sansa had grown to look like Catelyn then she would have no problem finding an interested man to take her to wife.

Sansa had adored Robb, who had spent a lot of time talking to her about stories and offering to play Knights and Maidens with her. Arya and he would take turns being the monster but Jon had never cared much for the game. Where Robb had been open and trusting, Jon had been closed and guarded. Father had once commented how they were like the sun and the moon, but they had always been close despite their differences.

And even when Arya came into the world, their competitiveness and jealousy over who would be her favourite brother had been pointless. Arya loved them both for who they were, although Jon used to like to think that Arya’s similar personality had made him a little bit more of her favourite. The thought makes him feel sick with shame now, with Robb not even gone a year.

“Shall I tell them to save you some?” Arya asked then, glancing over at him.

“I should bathe first,” he muttered, clearing his throat as though that could get his voice to work properly. Arya nodded, her teeth biting into her lips to prevent her smile from spreading.

“I will send a servant up to you. Maester Luwin will go over all the updates with you as well, although there have not been many concerns lately.”

“Good,” he replied as he pushed himself up to sit. Arya stood, reaching over to place a kiss on his cheek before quickly departing the room.

He sighed as he pushed himself out of the furs, grimacing at the way his muscles protested at the movement. He had only been leaving the bed to use the chamber pot and to pick at whatever food had been left. He groaned as he stretched his arms high above his head as he walked slowly around the room, waiting for the servant to come and fill his bath.

He padded to the window, idly moving an arm across his chest as he observed the bustling courtyard below. He would have to get back to his training soon, he thought as he stretched the other arm.

He turned at the knock at the door, calling for the servant to enter. He continued to stare out of the window, his eyes casting up to the clear blue sky and he smiled softly at the sight of it, the sunlight beating down around them.

It was spring, he reminded himself as the servant dismissed themselves.

Spring was the time to begin anew.

***

As time passed, he had started to feel some sense of himself return.

He had developed a bond with Robyn, checking on her every night before she was put to bed. She was growing so fast, she had seemed just a tiny being when she had been born but now she was rolling over and smiling whenever someone peered into her bassinet.

He and Arya had started their sword practice together in the training yard once more, laughing and teasing as they swiped at each other. And Jon had thought that maybe things would be alright again.

But with everything that had happened, he had forgotten a crucial part of him now being King.

Robyn was a bastard girl, he had no wife and his only heir was Arya.

It seemed the Lords had thought the same thing, which was how Jon had come to be seated at a council meeting in the Great Hall, listening to the merits of the available women across the continent of Westeros.

“Perhaps you should marry a northern girl, Your Grace,” Lord Glover suggested.

“Ideally yes,” Lord Karstark stated, looking from Glover to Jon. “However, these are dangerous times. We could be at war with the Targaryens again sooner than we expect and we need to expand our alliances.”

“If Lord Arryn had had a daughter, that would have been a good alliance,” Lord Manderly grunted, nodding to the serving girl to refill his cup as she passed. “The Knights of the Vale are a formidable military force.”

“Aye,” Jon sighed, rubbing his temple slowly. Beside him, Arya shot him an amused smirk. It was alright for her, he thought. His marriage was much more important than hers right now so she didn’t have to deal with all this yet.

“There is Margaery Tyrell,” Lord Glover proposed after a moment. “The Reach would be an asset in war with the rich soils. And rumours say she is a very beautiful woman.”

“We could invite her to Winterfell,” Lord Karstark added, giving Jon an expectant look. Jon cleared his throat.

“Yes,” he remarked, taking another long drink of his ale. “Do that.”

***

In truth, the rumours had not done Margaery Tyrell justice.

Her smile was soft and sweet, her large brown eyes crinkling at the corners when she rose from her curtsey.

“Your Grace,” she greeted, her hands clasped in front of her.

“I’m pleased to meet you, my lady,” Jon replied, taking one of her hands and pressing a kiss to the knuckles in greeting.

He offered her his arm and escorted her to the high table where his sister stood waiting. Arya gave an awkward curtsey to the other woman, having never been used to such feminine behaviours. But Margaery barely noticed, or if she did she made no fuss about it as she placed her hands on his sister’s shoulders and kissed her cheeks.

“I have heard such wonderful things about the North,” she said as she sat down in the seat Jon held back for her.

“Really?” Jon asked as he took the seat next to her.

“Oh, I know everyone says it is dull and barren,” she replied, waving her hand as though to dismiss such claims. “It is no Highgarden for sure but it certainly has its own charm. I was brought up hearing all the fairy tale stories that are famous from here.”

“Is that so?”

“The Ice Dragon was my favourite,” she responded, giving him a pretty smile that made his cheeks heat.

Eventually, as they devoured course after course, the singer was summoned to begin playing and signal the beginning of the dance. Jon caught Arya’s smirk as his sister looked behind Margaery at him and he scowled in response.

He knew it was expected of him to offer his hand for a dance with her but he had never had a particular fondness for the act. Robb had been the dutiful one, the one who had learned the steps of every dance as quickly as he learned to wield a sword. Robb and Margaery would have been a good match, he thought vaguely if Robb had not met Jeyne then…

The thought of Jeyne made his heart ache and he took a large gulp of his ale to distract himself from thoughts of his brother’s lover. And, as the night wore on, the ale gave him courage to turn and ask for Margaery to join him in a dance.

“I thought you would never ask,” she purred, sliding her delicate hand in his own.

She moved across the dance floor with grace, commanding attention like a true Queen and Jon followed her lead. Smiling warmly, she guided his hands to her hip, clasping the other tight as she placed her own on his shoulder.

“Shall we begin, Your Grace?”

***

He wed Margaery in the fading days of summer in front of the Godswood’s heart tree. Margaery herself prayed to the Seven, like his own mother had. But she had not complained at all about marrying in front of the Old Gods.

At the feast, his Uncle Edmure approached him joyfully and clapped his shoulder as he bestowed some advice in Jon’s ear about wedding nights. Blushing furiously, Jon’s eyes trailed away and ended up resting over where Sansa sat next to Arya and a couple of the other household girls. Sansa and Jeyne Poole were talking in excited whispers and Arya was trying her best to not look bored. Sansa would be three and ten now, he mused when she had just been a girl when he had last seen her.

She smiled briefly when she noticed him before returning to her conversation. Edmure nudged Jon’s shoulder, bringing him back to reality.

“Have you found a match for Sansa yet?” he asked.

“No,” Edmure replied, smiling fondly at his daughter. “She is not yet flowered. Besides, she is my only child. I would like to keep her a little longer I think.”

“She’ll have no shortage of offers once the time comes,” Jon assured him.

“Don’t be getting any ideas now lad,” Edmure chuckled, nudging his shoulder again. “I know Kings like to have their fun but my Sansa will remain a maid until her wedding night if I have any say.”

“I wasn’t implying anything of the sort!” Jon blurted, horrified at the accusation. Edmure guffawed, shaking his head slowly.

“I was teasing you lad,” he stated eventually. “I know you do not see Sansa that way. Besides, you would never dream of committing adultery. And why would you?” His uncle tilted his head to where Margaery’s father twirled her, her laughter echoing brightly around the hall. “When you have such a pretty flower of your own.”

As though hearing his uncle talk of such things, the music stopped and shouts for the bedding began to boom around the hall. Margaery flushed as Lord Umber hoisted her up easily in his arms, the Lords gathering around her until she was swallowed in the crowd.

Edmure tugged Jon to a stand before shoving him into the awaiting women. Their giggles made him scowl, the self-conscious part of him wanting to bat their prying hands away. He should have commanded there not to be a bedding, he thought solemnly as his shirt was ripped and tugged from his body ruthlessly.

Left in nothing but his breeches and boots, he was pushed into his chambers. Margaery turned at the sound of the door opening, her doe like eyes watching him silently. Her shift was thin enough to see the shape of her beneath and he felt the desire running through him at the sight of her perky breasts.

“Shall we?” she asked, her lips curving in that infectious, pretty smile of hers as she motioned towards the bed.

“I should tell you,” he blurted, feeling his face flush with the oncoming confession. “I’ve never lain with anyone before.”

She held her hand out, that gentle smile still in place.

“Then we’ll learn together.”

***

He smiled fondly as he heard his wife’s laugh and glancing through the door, he was right to guess she was sitting having luncheon with her Grandmother.

She caught his eye, her own twinkling as she smiled at him. He bowed his head in return, turning to leave them to their meal.

It had surprised him, how quickly he had come to love his wife. After Jeyne, he had never thought he could be happy like this.

Even with winter coming, Jon could not help the hopeful joy that ran through him at how well things had turned out. And when he thought of all the children they would have – children to name after his father, mother and brother, he can barely contain his excitement.

Arya was dumbfounded by the way he seemed to walk around with a constant smile on his face and it was during their sparring session one day when she wacked his shoulder none too gently and huffed that she had had quite enough of his love sick phase.

Yet nobody, not even Arya could have predicted how wrong things would go so quickly.

***

“I will not.”

“Lady Arya, please just listen to - ” Lord Karstark began, his brow furrowed in annoyance. His sister looked down upon him with a storm brewing in her eyes as she interrupted him.

“I don’t want to be anyone’s Lady,” she hissed, scowling around the room as though daring any other of those gathered to try and bring forward their sons. “Jon is married anyway so leave me be.”

“The King has been married for two years and still has had no child. Her Grace has still shown no signs of conceiving,” Karstark responded, followed by a long sigh that made his shoulder slump.

Jon shifted in his seat, feeling his cheeks heat at the fact his marriage had been brought up in the middle of a council meeting. But he supposed, it was impossible to keep such things spreading like wildfire when it was true, there had been no luck so far.

And it wasn’t for lack of trying either.

After their initial awkward wedding night, Jon had found an appetite he had never thought to have. In those first couple of moons, they had been practically inseparable, basking in this new experience and enjoying each other.

He hadn’t worried too much then when nothing came of their frequent couplings, aware it didn’t always happen the first time. Even as a traitorous voice echoed in his mind about how his mother had conceived Robb the first time, and Robb had gotten Jeyne with child the first time too. Perhaps it was the fact that he had favoured father’s looks and nature more than mother’s which meant the luck of his Tully blood had betrayed him.

How ironic, he thought sullenly, that the rose of Highgarden may, in fact, be infertile.

“Let us wait a while longer,” Jon insisted. As though he hadn’t asked the same of his men for a year now. “My Queen and I are young still, we have plenty of time to have a child or two.”

From the echoing sighs, he could tell he would not be able to make the request for much longer.

“And there is always Robyn,” Arya commented lightly.

“A bastard girl?” Karstark barked, chuckling mirthlessly. He cleared his throat at the weight of Arya’s glare. Shaking his head slightly, he continued. “Even so young, I can see her father in her. I don’t doubt she could grow to be a capable ruler like her father and grandfather. But putting the girl in the line of succession when there is a possibility of legitimate children would be a political nightmare. What happens if the King does have trueborn children? Or even yourself, my lady? History is written with the blood of those who have fought for those wanting a crown. No, for the sake of peace, Robyn must only be considered for the throne if His Grace has no trueborn children and you have none to follow either.”

Jon pressed a hand to his head, his eyes clenching shut in annoyance. This standoff between his sister and the Lords was becoming to regular an occurrence for his liking. And while he would always want for Arya to be happy, he also understood the concerns of having no legitimate heir.

Knowing that this would be yet another stalemate, he dismissed the meeting. Arya gave him a look of utter betrayal, scoffing as she left the room. He knew he should have been firmer with his support of Arya. Being the King, his refusal of a contender for her hand was far more accepted than Arya’s own. But he was distracted in his thoughts having heard that Margaery had suffered another miscarriage just the day before.

He had not known she was with child at all. She stopped telling him of her hopes that her missed moonblood meant a child until she was sure everything was fine. Yet, it seemed that it never was fine and she barely ever carried beyond the third moon.

Like the last three times, Jon had forbidden the maester and the maids to speak of it. It would never go on record that she had lost another child for Margaery was suffering enough. His wife was grieving not only the babe that never came to be but also for the loss of the people’s love. For while everyone had adored and admired beautiful and witty Margaery, as she continued to struggle to bring an heir, the Lords grew annoyed, the people scared of what would happen to them.

“The Gods like their little jokes,” she stated when he entered to find her leaning against the pillar of the window, arms folded as she observed the courtyard below her.

He closed the door gently. “Mine or yours?”

She gave a half-amused huff, sparing him a glance and for a moment, he saw the woman he had fallen in love with. But then her smile was gone, her gaze returning to look down.

“I always thought I was made for great things,” she sighed. “Grandmother told me I would be a Queen, that I would rise high in this world. And I suppose she was right. But power is a fickle thing, you have to balance so much. Fail at one thing and you lose it all.”

“You are my Queen,” he replied firmly, crossing the room to grasp her shoulders and kiss her cheek. “And I love you. You will not lose me or your crown.”

A small smile was all he got in answer.

***

She clung desperately to him when next he came to her bed.

Their couplings had always had a tender passion to them but for some reason, it felt more intense than usual.

She never let their mouths be parted, pullng him back down time and time again, her nose nuzzling against his cheek. Her hands roamed his back as if her fingertips could memorise the shape of his muscles. And when he does actually lean too far above her for her to reach his mouth, her eyes stared at his face intently as though trying to take in every last detail, never wavering until she was forced to close them with her climax.

If he had known it would be the last time, he would have done the same instead of grunting in her neck with the force of his release.

***

He could not even pretend to care as the thundering slam of the door caused the windows to rattle and Margaery to whirl around to face him with a hand to her chest.

“Did someone say something to you?” he demanded. “Who was it?”

“Nobody said anything,” she responded calmly, her hand dropping back down as she turned. His eyes drop to her folded garments, the open chest at her feet.

“I won’t allow it,” he hissed. “I won’t divorce you.”

Margaery shrugged, her attention on her packing. “That is your choice. But it is my choice to leave.”

“Please,” he whispered, stepping towards him. “Please don’t go.”

“I cannot be responsible for the destruction of your Kingdom Jon,” she sighed, finally facing him. He was ready to reply when she held a hand up and continued. “I cannot have children Jon. I know that I cannot and I am done pretending. We are royalty, we know that our kingdoms come first. And your kingdom need an heir.”

“Arya may still marry.”

“I will not put this on her shoulders,” Margaery responded sharply.

“And Robyn.”

“Then the Stark name dies with you,” she said, her eyes pinning him in place. “There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, is that not right?”

He turned his face from her, scowling at the wall and the fact that she was right. She was always right. Couldn’t she see that she was his equal in this political game? She was smart and observant, someone he could confide in.

He stormed from the room, down to the crypts where he felt Robb’s stare on his back as he glanced at Jeyne’s statue. He had requested it to be made to go beside Robb so that Robyn may look upon them both and know what her parents looked like.

Kneeling before the cold stone form of his father, he begged for some sort of miracle, begged for his father to tell him what should be done, what he would do. But he knew, in his heart, it was a pointless question.

Father would do what was right.

And so he rose. Wolves were brave and he would be too.

He met his wife in the courtyard and bid her a safe journey. As a token of his affections, he insisted of giving her a keep in the North, should she ever wish to return to his Kingdom.

“I shall love to visit Your Grace,” she responded demurely. “One day, I swear I will.”

“Until then,” he responded, kissing her hand and wishing he didn’t long to kiss her sweet mouth.

It was her choice, he told himself over and over as he watched her form grow smaller and smaller, until he could no longer tell her apart from her guards. It was her choice.

But it didn’t make it any easier to accept.


End file.
